


How Can I Help You Today?

by lar_laughs



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bruce has rage issues, Clint throws knives, F/M, Natasha only scares people when she needs to, pharmacy AU, stocking feminine hygiene makes Steve blush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lar_laughs/pseuds/lar_laughs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Corner Drugstore AU.</p><p>Clint and Natasha are Pharmacy Technicians.  You know it's going to be a rough week when the first customer through the door makes you see red... and it's only Tuesday.</p><p>Of course, their issues are not singular.  Everyone in the drug store has problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkvoices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkvoices/gifts).



> At the [be_compromised](http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/) promptathon, **inkvoices** offered up this prompt: _Whatever it is that you do for a living, put Clint and Natasha in your workplace/job. Either they're undercover or make it an AU._ This is what I do. I just wish it was this much fun! 
> 
> Certain aspects of this story are true. I won't tell you which ones. The suspense will give you something to think about as you read! *grins*

Clint swears he’s only been in Aisle Five for five minutes. Ten, tops. Three people have asked for Tylenol PM (has no one heard of the recall? That happened TWO FUCKING YEARS AGO?) without successfully finding it the first time with his instructions and he’s had to walk out to show them exactly where it is, each and every time. With his finger pointing at it. And sometimes moving the actual box. When they look at him with that look in their eyes that says that they don’t understand, he picks up the box of generic pain relief (SERIOUSLY! The recall was on the evening news of all the major networks for months!) and shows them where it says _Similiar to Tylenol PM_ and then he explains how Tylenol PM is just acetaminophen and benadryl and they could get the brand name of both and take them together and... they never listen.

He’s counting off the exact number of steps it takes to get from the end of the aisle nearest the pharmacy counter so he can tell people how to get there without having to leave Natasha alone. Nothing good happens when Natasha gets left alone for very long. 

The echoing “Excuse me?” and the muffled cry and amplified thump can be nothing good. “Steve,” Clint hollers as he goes running toward the back. He’s going to need back up if she’s gone after a customer again.

When he gets to the scene, Bruce is trying to assert himself between the red-haired girl and the older man. Clint wraps his arms around her waist and manhandles her away from the scene and into the back room. Steve comes to a screeching halt right behind him and helps Bruce pacify the man, getting him his prescriptions and drink of water.

“What was that?” Clint hisses as he sits Natasha on the ledge they use for everything from lunch room table to restocking counter. She doesn’t try to move away, only slumps in on herself, but he puts a hand on either arm to make sure she doesn’t get any ideas. 

When she mumbles something, he uses a finger to lift her head up so they’re eye to eye. “What?”

“He came to the wrong window to pick up his prescriptions.”

Really, Clint knows he should read her the riot act for daring to treat a customer like that but it’s been days since her last encounter. Not enough time to forget the tirade he gave her last time but enough, obviously, to forget her promise.

“You just got here, Tasha. He was your third customer. It’s only Tuesday.”

She nods, miserable. “I really need this job.”

“I know you do. I’m the other half of your rent, remember?” He leans his head in until his forehead touches her bare collarbone. She smells like the orange cleaner she was using to clean off the counters earlier but nothing else. The one thing he loves about Natasha is that she always smells like herself. “You have to remember to smile at them, Tasha. Nothing else. Only smile.”

“Only smile.” She repeats his words automatically but there’s a touch of laughter in her voice. “Like you did with the Tylenol PM guy?”

“Two years. Is it too much to ask that people have heard about the recall in two years?”

She frames his head with her hands and pulls him up to her lips for a quick, yet thorough, kiss. “Come on. I should go apologize.”

“Don’t bother. Steve will have worked his magic on the guy and it’ll be fine. That guy has a smile that would make a monk forget his vows and a nun go running for the condom aisle.”

“Imagery,” she shrieks but there’s no disguising the wide smile she’s got on her face now.

Clint pushes himself upright but points to the stack of paperwork in the corner. “You stay back here and file for awhile. I can watch the counter alone until it gets busy.”

It’s enough of a punishment (hence the large pile that never goes anywhere) that she groans and flips him the bird but he’s already walking back out the front, his false smile firmly in place.

***

There have been enough customers this morning that Steve hasn’t been able to get out from behind the cash register much. He doesn’t mind. The feel of each crisp bill fitting perfectly into the proper slot makes his heart sing with gladness. He doesn’t mind working customer service, either. Not like the others. It’s something he’s good at and the boss pays him a lot of money to keep the customers happy. Very, very good, considering the rest of the staff leave something to be desired.

But they’re good people and he likes them enough to hang out with them after hours, at the karaoke bar that Clint and Natasha always vote for or the coffee shop just around the corner that serves the perfect iced lattes that he can’t get enough of.

He could call them friends if he had those sorts of things. Instead, he has an apartment with a cat named Peggy and a bird named Bucky and a life that, while not at all what he imagined it to be, is pretty good.

Pretty damn good.

Nope. He can feel his cheeks begin to heat up just thinking about the swear word. Clint’s been trying to teach him to swear ever since he found out that he doesn’t. To someone like Clint, swearing is like a second language that he’s been proficient in since childhood but Steve’s life was never like that. Being sheltered isn’t a bad thing. It’s who he is, after all. His identity.

“How are you today, ma’am?” he asks Mrs. Johnson. She’s actually told him to call her Katy but he can’t, seeing as she’s nearly ninety. She shouldn’t be driving the six blocks from her house to the store but she always seems to need something urgently. Bruce thinks she comes to flirt with Steve but that doesn’t seem right. 

They banter back and forth about what tissue brand is the best (he’s been trying to get her to try some of the new greener paper products but she’s convinced they feel like wood) when Steve sees someone go past out of the corner of his eye. People come and go out of the store all the time and he doesn’t think much of it. Not until he hears the THWUNK and the muted cry in the range that only a teenage boy still on the cusp of puberty can reach.

“You can’t-” he tried to say as Clint skidded to a stop beside the tethered kid One of Clint’s throwing knives is embedded in the doorframe, along with a piece of the kid’s hoodie. It’s a good shot. One of Clint’s best.

“Did you think I didn’t notice you? Did you think that I’m just some dumb adult because this little plastic card has my name on it? Or did you not think at all?” His scowl is scary, even for Steve who knows that it’s just a game. Sort of. Clint doesn’t like shoplifters and has been known to pull some pretty dramatic faces to make a point. There’s nothing any of them can do but sit back and hope the kid doesn’t resort to wetting his pants. That’s never pleasant for anyone involved.

“Well?” Clint shouts in the kid’s ear when he seems to have become mute.

This prompts as tiny scream, as does the slash of movement Clint uses to free the kid. Instead of letting him go completely, he keeps his hand twisted in the material.

“You gonna hand it to me or am I going to go searching for it?”

Steve tries to hide a smile as Mrs. Johnson claps her hands together with glee. This is probably the most fun she’s had in twenty years. Better than the horrible reality shows they’ve replaced all the daytime dramas with.

“Clint, would you like me to call the cops?” he finally asks when the kid can’t seem to find his voice and Clint’s forced to step up the menacing.

“Yeah. Call the cops! This guy is all over me,” the kid squeaks, his hands waving around in the air.

“I wouldn’t be all over you if you’d just hand whatever it was that you took.”

The kid scrambles for the box in his oversized pocket. It’s possible they only sell this sort of thing to wanna-be hoodlums because no normal person would need a pocket that could hold such a large box. Steve’s kind of amazed he couldn’t see it before the kid handed it over but the pocket but be set so that it doesn’t show anything. The perfect piece of clothing for a juvenile delinquent. Count of Clint to have figured it out.

“See this?” Clint points to the gash in the wall that his knife created, physically turning the kid when he refuses to look. “I have to repair this with my own money every time one of you kids comes in here and steals... cologne. Seriously? You want to smell like shit? Then get a job and buy the good stuff. Girls don’t like this stuff, man. It doesn’t smell good.”

“Fuck off,” the kid yelled as he was released, the offending sweatshirt flapping in the breeze he made as he ran down the street.

Steve could only sigh as Clint inspected his weapon before putting it back in the top of his boot. “Was it worth it?”

“Keeping the kid from smelling like a whore when he shoplifts at the next place? Sure. All in a day’s work.”

“When are we going to do this the right way? Where I call the cops and you quit throwing knives?”

This line of reasoning only makes Clint angry but Steve keeps harping about it anyway. There will come a time when Clint sees that the police aren’t the bad guys, won’t haul him away with the teenagers he stops. Granted, the kids never do it again. They don’t even need fancy cameras and other expensive equipment because Clint has a sixth sense about who’s doing what in the store.

Still, Steve holds out his hand. “Twenty dollars, Clint.”

“I’ll give it to you at break,” the guy grumbled, grabbing for the duster making a tail out his back pocket. “I have to go finish dusting the feminine hygiene.”

Try as he might, Steve can’t stop the blush from creeping up his cheeks.

***

Natasha stapled the bag shut (two staples, not just one) and handed it over to the glowering woman. “Have a nice day,” she says with what might be her first real smile of the day. It’s true that she likes the people that come in with a frown on their face, expecting nothing and getting nothing in return. Those are her people, the ones that get her. The last thing they want is customer service. So she gives it to them, anyway, if only to piss them off further.

There’s a rumble of sound that has yet to be processed by her brain. Having to be polite makes it nearly impossible for her to do anything but deal with one issue at at time and the growling was not important until just this minute.

“What’re you doing over there, Bruce,” she asks as gently as she is able. Clint is helping someone down aisle five again (she really hates that aisle since it’s over too far for her to see down it and is convinced that half the time Clint is just goofing off instead of helping her) or she’d let him deal with Bruce when he gets irritated like this.

When he doesn’t answer right away, she runs through all the possible scenarios in her head for why he’s gripping the phone likes it’s suddenly clamped onto his head by alien means and he has to get it loose or die. There’s only two. The first involves the plagues of Egypt finally hitting the shores of America and their pharmacy being the last bastion of penicillin. The second can only be a transfer.

“Forty-five minutes,” he whispers hoarsely, his jaw so tight that the words come out sounding funny. 

The last thing Natasha wants to do is laugh, though. Instead, she does the only thing she can do. She braces for impact.

“Forty-five minutes and no one has come on to tell me if I’m even still holding for anyone. Maybe there’s no real person on the other end. Maybe the end of the world has happened and I’m holding for no one! They could have at least warned me about the coming apocalypse. It would have been the decent thing to do. Instead, I’m holding this phone to my ear like I have nothing better to do with my time. I’ve counted out twenty prescriptions using only one hand.”

She’s not about to tell him that he always counts out prescriptions with one hand. It’s the pouring them into the bottle that is always tricky while balancing a phone on one shoulder. He gets props for that.

But his rant isn’t done. Oh, no. He’s only started and Natasha can only watch with increasing uneasiness. “It’s not like I don’t have other things I could do besides being tethered to this phone. I could be eating my lunch. What a novel idea! Getting to eat lunch at lunch time. No, at this point I’ll be eating my lunch for dinner. Do you know what I’ve had to eat today? Nothing. Not one god damn thing.”

She can’t react fast enough but that’s okay because he’s not moving toward her now. Bruce has the receiver in his hand and is slamming it into place but then he keeps doing it, over and over again, so that the plastic case is rattling against the countertop.

“Forty-five minutes is not polite,” he yells down at the cracking phone as if the person might have come back and can hear him through the cacophony of rage. And then, because this simple mutilation isnt’ enough, he picks up the phone, ripping it from the wall socket, and throws it past Natasha so that it crashes against the wall followed by a most satisfying ripple of falling bits of plastic. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Clint running to the pharmacy but she holds a hand up to stall him from doing anything drastic. There’s no telling what Bruce may do before he gets calmed down.

There’s not a lot of larger pieces left of the phone but what’s there has started to cry out with a piercing beep that the whole store can hear if they hadn’t already been drawn to the back with the tirade. Bruce’s anger seems to have abated and he’s moving away from anger and on to the inevitable embarrassment. 

Now that the danger has passed, Natasha convinces her feet to move. The first stop is her messenger bag and a bag of trail mix that she always keeps handy. The second stop is at the supply closet and a large box near the front, out of which she grabs a smaller box.

“Here,” she says, pushing the bag of chocolate and nuts into Bruce’s hand as she walks by. Next, she goes about dismantling the protesting mess that was once a phone, getting as much of it into the trash can as she can without the broom. From the box, she pulls out a pristine new phone from the box and proceeds to plug it in with practiced movements.

When there’s a dial tone in her ear, she glances over at the transfer information and begins dialing the number back. “Shady Oaks Pharmacy. This is Brian, Pharmacy Tech.” The way his voice implied the capitals in the job title told her a lot about Brian. It didn’t take a head hunter to figure out that he liked his job and got a great sense of satisfaction from having a puny title that meant little more than _glorified grunt_. He probably flashed the card that the state sent out with his renewed license every year, as if it meant anything other than another seventy-five bucks got paid for his right to retain the title. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, my name’s Natasha, pharmacy tech at Stark Pharmacy, and I need a transfer. But,” she interrupts just as he’s about to ask her to hold, “I’m not going to hold. Don’t even think about putting me on hold. I’ll tell you why.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to gain the upper hand in the conversation again, “but I need-”

“What you need to do is to go get your pharmacist on duty. You’re going to let them know that there’s a transfer they need to take care of right away. By right away I mean in the next few minutes because you’re not going to put me on hold. I want to hear every word you say.”

“But,” he stuttered again.

Clint has the broom out and it picking up the last bits of the old phone. His grin is a mile wide. Bruce, on the other hand, is scowling at her but he’s eating the trail mix so his blood sugar is probably back up into a better range. She’s going to take the fault on this one because she didn’t bother testing the waters to see if Bruce was doing okay. Not that he’ll let her bear the guilt but she’s going to anyway.

“If you doing get this done in the next few minutes, I’m going to call up your wholesaler. You use Cardinal right? Yeah, I thought so. I’ll drop a few tidbits into their ear and we’ll see if we can’t get your overhead increased by ten percent. Do you think you can make a profit with an increase of that margin?”

“You can’t do that.”

“Wanna test me, Brian from Shady Oaks? Call up Luke’s Family Pharmacy. Oh, right. You can’t. They’re no longer in business. Would you like me to give you Luke’s cell phone number so you can ask him why he’s spending his days peddling medical supplies at the retirement homes?”

“Just a minute.” His voice is sulky but it’s good enough for Natasha.

She hands the phone over. “All yours now, big guy.”

There’s a customer waiting at the pick up window but she’s learned, the hard way, not to assume that they actually read the signs and know where to go. “Are you picking something up today?”

“Dwight.”

Taking in a deep breath through her nose, Natasha tries again. “Do you have something you need to pick up or drop off?”

“Lisinopril.” He just smiles at her without bothering to answer her question or to elaborate.

There’s a blur of movement and she looks over her shoulder in time to see Clint coming over to help her out. She holds up a hand to stop him. She’s got this.

“Sir?” She waits for him to finally look in her in the eye instead of letting his gaze roam around the store as if he can’t quite take it all in at once. “Your name is Dwight?”

“Yep.”

A lot of help this one is. “And your last name, Dwight?”

“Williams.”

Now they’re getting somewhere. In no time flat, and with no help at all from the customer, who can’t seem to concentrate enough to sign his name at the big black X and has to be told twice not to hit the BACK button instead of the OK button, she’s got the bottle in a white bag and is handing it over.

Before he walks away, he makes one more request over his shoulder. “Do you have any Tylenol PM? I can’t seem to find any these days.”

It’s all she can do to keep Clint from launching himself over the counter at Dwight, who doesn’t understand just how close he came to losing his life today. Bruce is too busy laughing to be of much help.

***

Line 1 is a store line but it keeps ringing back to the pharmacy, a sure indication that Steve is too busy up front to answer it. “Go help,” Bruce demands between bites of food, pointing to Natasha and then to the front of the store. It’s nearly closing and he’s only just gotten around to eating the apple he packed this morning which means he’s finished his lunch. It took him five hours but he is successfully full... just in time for dinner.

When Natasha comes back a few minutes later, Bruce glares at her but he only shrugs. “He’s not busy.”

“Then why does the phone keep ringing back here? He should be picking it up.”

Natasha shrugged and went back to sorting the day’s mail that had come in hours ago but had been ignored until these slow times.

A few minutes later, Line 1 rings again and Bruce answers it with a barely concealed huff of exasperation. “Stark Pharmacy.”

“Can I have the nice young man up at the front counter, please?”

Since it was the same sort of request he’d just fielded, Bruce got suspicious. “He’s busy right now. Can I help you?”

“Oh, no. I need to talk to the boy who was helping me before.”

“Would you mind holding?”

“I don’t have a problem with holding. No, not at all.”

After pushing a few more buttons, he’s connected to the intercom up at the register. “Steve, you’ve got a call on Line 1.”

“I’m busy.”

“No, you aren’t,” bellows Clint from somewhere in the middle of the store where he can hear both conversations without needing an intercom. “He’s not busy, Bruce. You’re not busy, Steve.” There’s a cackle of glee, probably because it’s next to impossible to catch Steve in any kind of lie.

“Why aren’t you answering the phone? It’s your job to get Line 1.”

There’s a long enough pause that Bruce wonders if they’ve lost the connection. When Steve finally starts talking, it’s obvious he’s leaning very close to the speaker. “It’s Mrs. Stetz. Right? Please don’t make me answer the phone. I’ll give you my entire wage for the day if you’ll tell her I’ve gone home.”

“Why don’t you want to talk to Mrs. Stetz? It could be worse. Come back here and take some of the calls I have to deal with all day long. You’ll be happy you only have to deal with Mrs. Stetz.”

There’s another pause, probably as Steve waits for Clint to stop laughing hysterically at Bruce’s words. “She keeps inviting me to come over and have dinner.”

“That’s not so bad. I’ve heard she makes a great pan of lasagna.”

Steve clears his throat once, then twice. “She does. I’ve tried it. But her idea of dinner... it’s not just eating. She’s got designs on me.”

“Like...” but Bruce can’t finish the sentence, he’s so surprised. Instead, he sputters along until Natasha’s intrigued enough that she leans on the counter, close enough that she can hear the conversation.

“Exactly. I think she wants me to be husband number six.”

“Seven,” Clint called out. “You forgot about Martin. Poor guy never stood a chance.”

“Don’t make me answer the phone.” Steve’s voice is starting to get high-pitched as real terror is setting in. “Please, Bruce. I beg you. Don’t make me answer the phone.”

“Fine.” Another couple of buttons pushed and he’s talking to Mrs. Stetz again. “Hi, Margorie. It’s Bruce again. I thought Steve was here but they tell me he’s gone home early. Seems he has a date. No, no one you would know. Unless you’ve met the new first grade teacher that just moved into town. No? Oh, he’s a nice young man. Just came in from Boston, I’ve heard. Loves children. Would you like me to pass a message along to Steve? No? Well, okay then. You have a nice day.”

There’s strangled laughter from the aisle that Clint is supposed to be working on. Natasha is staring at Bruce with wide eyes, her lips clenched together to hold back her own laughter. There isn’t a sound coming from the front of the store.

Bruce punches in the code for the intercom at the register. “I got rid of her for you.”

“So I heard.”

“She shouldn’t be calling back.”

There’s a snort that isn’t altogether angry but it’s not happy, either. “I heard that, too.”

“You mad?”

“Why should I be mad, Bruce? You just outed me to one of the main gossips in town? Please tell me there isn’t really a new teacher in town. I’d hate to think of the impression the guy has already made.”

That’s a good point that Bruce hadn’t really thought about. There is a new teacher but the gossips already know about his orientation which is how Bruce found out about it because the one really good thing about being a pharmacist is that they know all the really good gossip in town. Not only do people talk about things in front of the pharmacy counter as if there’s no one on the other side but the pharmacists in town are pretty chatty when they call for transfers and to check on drug availability.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure he’s bringing a significant other with him. Maybe it’ll blow over.” There’s no answer for long enough that Bruce begins to panic. “You want me to see if Betty can get you a date with one of her coworkers at the gym? That would give you an honest excuse if one of the other biddies gets ideas.”

There’s a huge sigh, large enough that Bruce is pretty sure forgiveness only accounts for a tiny bit of it. “I don’t think that would help much, but thanks.”

“Do it anyway,” Clint calls out. There’s a thump as something flies over into the aisle and, from the sounds that ensue, hits Clint. Steve, when he cares to try, has great aim.

Natasha’s nodding and mouthing the words, “Yes, do it,” so that no harm befalls her if Steve decides to continue throwing things to keep the idea from taking on a life of its own. While Bruce is surprised he hasn’t thought of it before, he’s fairly certain Betty has brought it up in conversation a time or two. Not that he wasn’t listening or anything that will get him kicked to the couch tonight if he were to admit it, but it had never felt like a good idea. But now... maybe now it does.

***

“I’m locking the front door.” There’s no need to yell but Clint likes to do it because it means the day is over and he can stop acting like he cares about being here. Except it’s not time to go home. Instead, he heads to the back room where Steve counts the money and Bruce accounts for all the prescriptions that he’s counted out and have gone through the register.

Natasha’s sprawled on the couch, her boots off as she wiggles her toes back and forth to make sure they still work. When Clint flops down beside her, she lifts her arm so he can lay his head in her lap.

“You did good today,” he tells her quietly, one of his hands smoothing over her cheek. “We got Tuesday out of the way.”

“And tomorrow is Wednesday.”

“But the day after is Thursday.” 

She searches his face, one of her fingers smoothing over forehead where he knows he’s got tension lines because he can already feel the headache creeping in. They won’t work together tomorrow because it’s his day to work at the animal shelter and he refuses to give it up, despite the fact that he worked off his community service years ago. Maria will be in the pharmacy for part of the day but she’s got to get the order out once it comes in. It means that Natasha has to handle the whole day by herself.

“Twenty bucks, Clint.” 

When he turns his head to look at Steve, the guy is still using one hand to punch numbers on the ancient 10-key machine while the other is outstretched. With a sigh, he reaches into his pocket and throws the wad of bills in the general vicinity of the desk. “There’s your blood money. Make sure you remind Stark that I’m saving him money.”

“Saving me money?” The back door opens, ushering in the smell of rain and a dashing dark-haired man. “I’d rather you make me money, Barton. What’s the haul tonight, Rogers?”

“We broke even. Not bad, considering we’ve been out of raspberry ketone for three days now and the weight-loss junkies are going to start looking for it elsewhere. You really need to make those phone calls tomorrow. I wrote the number out for you on those sticky notes last week. Twice.”

“Right.” Stark pats his pockets as a blank expression moves across his expression. “Can you write them down again for me. I’ll totally get to the calls tomorrow.”

Steve narrows his eyes but does what he asks as Tony Stark, owner of Stark Corner Drug, looks around at the rest of the occupants. “Barton, how many young hoodlums does this make for you this month?”

“Six. My numbers are down this month but they’ve added extra patrols when the kids are out for lunch.”

“And,” Steve reminds the rest of the room, in case they’ve forgotten, “you scare the bejeesus out of them.”

“Bejeesus? Really? Is that a word?” Clint doesn’t let up even when Natasha tweeks his ear. “I don’t think that’s a word. Did you mean to say _crap_ , perhaps?”

Bruce scowls, pulling off his glasses as he massages the bridge of his nose. “Leave him alone, Clint. He let you rearrange the candy section by color, didn’t he?”

“And how’s that working?” Suddenly, Stark is intrigued.

“Good. Numbers are up on anything with blue in it. I’m telling you, it’s a better plan than having them alphabetical.”

“Just don’t put them in order by calorie content again,” Natasha orders. “I’m not up for the angst from the pilates group again. You would have thought we sold them rat poison instead of Snickers bars.”

Stark’s attention is drawn to the girl as if he only just noticed she was in the room. “Ah, lovely Natasha. How many customers did you attack today?”

She did a mental tally before confirming silently with Clint. When she was sure of the number, she answered, “Twelve. Two of whom deserved much worse than the blistering words I used. One of them cried.”

“Only one?” Stark looks impressed. “And how many people demanded we transfer their prescriptions, Bruce?”

“One.” He doesn’t have to do any mental tallying because it’s one of their regular complainers. She’ll be back in six months, top, acting as if she’s never been to their pharmacy before in her life. “And she wasn’t one that Natasha got after. In fact, everyone has been polite to her for weeks. It probably unnerved her.”

“Well, I’m proud of you. No one got killed today so, I say, job well done to you all. What say we all go out and get a round of drinks and celebrate.”

Steve’s the only one not to start to moving about as if leaving finally sounds like a good idea. “Celebrate what?”

“Tuesday.” Natasha lets Clint help her on with her jacket before turning to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Because it’s not a bad day, after all.”

“I vote for a celebration of all the things that haven’t been recalled lately.”

Bruce blinks as everyone is suddenly staring at him for his idea for the cause of the celebration. “Because the drinks usually come with food?”

“Good enough,” Stark declares, holding the door open as they all filter through. All except for Steve. “So, I hear that Mrs. Stetz has designs on you?”

If Steve’s mouth opens any more than it is, his tongue might just fall out. Instead, he shuts it with a resounding click of teeth. “Who called you?”

But Tony just smiles his usual enigmatic smile. “I’ll never tell. You should know that by now.”


	2. Gag Reel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a Laugh Track meme - take one of your published stories and write a behind-the-scenes/gag reel/bloopers story. This is why Pepper is not part of the original story.

Deleted Scene:

Tony looked up just in time to see a grainy Pepper storming through the front doors from the bank of monitors now lined up on the desk in the back room. As if appreciating the anger emanating off of her, the doors opened immediately and didn't shut until she was most of the way through the aisle. 

_Take 3: Pepper tries walking through the door but it closes on her._

_Take 5: Pepper walks through the door but when it closes behind her, one of the plexiglass panels falls off the runner._

_Take 6: Pepper pounds on the door when it doesn't open. Clint and Steve mug in front of the door, acting out various scenes that send Pepper into a spasm of laughter that sends her stumbling out of the shot._

_Take 12: Pepper gets into the room just fine. The door acts as it should. Clint walks into the scene, wearing Pepper's spare pair of heels. "Can I help you, ma'am?" Pepper nearly falls over from laughing._

At the pace she was going, Tony had exactly five minutes before she burst through the door. He decided he didn't want to push her any further closer to the edge and the half bottle of whisky on his desk would do just that. Unfortunately, Clint had recently glued the drawers of the desk closed so there was no way to quickly hide the bottle. He did the next best thing and hid it under his shirt.

_Take 15: Tony can't get the bottle into his shirt. He ends up throwing it off scene where it hits one of the cameras._

_Take 17: Tony struggles with the drawers only to have one of them open unexpectedly. He flies into the back wall of the room. It's not a proper wall and it falls down on him. Several stage hands rush forward to help him out of the wreckage. Clint walks through the scene, still in the heels. "Can I help you now, ma'am?" From off scene, Pepper laughs._

"Pepper," he exclaimed, far more animatedly than was probably wise considering what he was hiding.

_Take 20: The bottle falls out from his shirt. Tony and Pepper laugh._

_Take 21: The bottle falls out from his shirt. Pepper folds in on herself, laughing so hard she's crying._

_Take 25: The bottle falls out from his shirt. Tony picks up the bottle and chucks it off scene. Even though it's going another direction, the wall behind Tony falls down._

The fuming woman stood in the middle of the room, the delicate gold chain around her neck glittering as it captured the light from the overhead light as she tried to control her breathing. "Do you know where I've been for the last two hours? Two hours, Tony. Two. Hours."

_Take 26-35: Pepper can't seem to get out the words TWO HOURS without laughing._

"Where have you been for the last two hours?"

She slammed her hands down on the desk. As Tony jumped back, he realized the bottle was slipping out of his shirt. He fumbled with it while trying not to let on that anything was wrong.

_Take 40: As Pepper slams her hands down, the wall falls down. Clint runs into the scene, screaming, "We're being attacked by strange creatures from outer space." Steve runs through after him, waving his hands in the air like a lunatic._

_Take 45: As Pepper slams her hands down, the bottle falls out of Tony's shirt and bounces along the floor._

_Take 46: As Pepper slams her hands down, she pauses to see what happens next. When nothing does, she starts laughing._

"I just spent the last two hours at my pharmacy, trying to get a prescription filled. Two hours, Tony. How long do you think it would have taken Bruce to fill the same prescription?"

_Take 50: Bruce pops up from behind the desk. "Ten minutes!" Pepper starts laughing. Clint comes over to high five Bruce._

It would have gone better for him to have left the alcohol out on the table. At this point, his drinking was a better conversation than the fact that he'd asked that Pepper not shop at the pharmacy. He'd wanted to keep everything separate, his personal life and his professional life.

"Ten minutes." He sighed as the whisky bottle slipped out and hit the floor with a sharp crash he'd heard too many times before.

_Take 55: Both Tony and Pepper watch as the bottle bounces along the floor once again. She turns toward the camera. "Is it supposed to do that?" From off scene, the director says, "There's going to be a sound effect." Pepper makes a face._

_Take 56: The bottle doesn't fall out of Tony's shirt._

_Take 58: The bottle falls and everything is nearly perfect until Bruce and Clint pop up on either side of Tony, each with a whisky bottle. "Looking for this?" they ask in unison. Pepper starts laughing._

_Take 59: Pepper starts laughing as soon as Tony starts speaking._

_Take 60: Pepper is still laughing as the director tries to get a close up of Tony instead of having her in the last scene. She's making Tony start laughing though. "I told you I shouldn't be in this movie," she gasps out between bursts of laughter._


End file.
